The Twin Trick
by Cauchy
Summary: One prophecy. Four children. One traitor. A father survives, the wrong child is hailed - everything changes. But playing with fate is tricky business, and even the best-laid plans may fail when it comes to Harry Potter. Wrong-boy-who-lived, creature!Harry
1. Chapter 1

"Why is this taking so long?"

Sirius watched his best friend pacing the waiting room of St. Mungo's maternity ward, as he'd been doing for most of the last ten hours.

"I'm sure everything is fine," he tried to calm him, "Don't worry, Prongs!"

But James was obviously worried, and Sirius couldn't fault him for it. He too was feeling quite anxious. Not because he feared that anything might go wrong with the birth—he trusted the healers were more than capable—but because the place was too exposed and too unsafe for his liking. If Voldemort or his Death Eaters got wind of their presence, they could be in big trouble. However, James had been adamant about Lily giving birth at St. Mungo's, where she'd receive the best care from skilled healers prepared for any complications. He was taking no risks with the birth of his first child. The Order of the Phoenix was on alert and patrolling the building. Still, Sirius would have liked to leave sooner rather than later.

"It's Lily's first birth. These always take longest." said Peter.

Both Sirius and James looked at him strangely.

"And how would you know?" asked Sirius.

Peter shrugged. "I think I read it somewhere."

Sirius snorted, while James shook his head with an irritated scowl. "And how is this information supposed to help, Wormtail?" he snapped.

"I... I don't know", stammered Peter, "I... just... thought..."

"Well, that's the problem! You never think!"

A look of hurt crossed Peter's face. Uncertain he looked at Sirius, who just raised his eyebrows. It was unlike James to snap at people like this for no apparent reason, even if it was Peter. He really had to be under a lot of stress. Mumbling something about "getting a cup of tea" Peter got up and exited the waiting room, leaving Sirius and James alone.

"What if something is wrong?" James whispered. For the first time since Sirius had known him he sounded truly afraid.

"Nothing is wrong!" Sirius said firmly, suppressing his own anxiety, "You heard Peter; it's normal to take this long the first time."

"Yeah well, Peter's knowledge isn't usually the most accurate, is it?"

"I'm sure he only meant well."

James looked guilty. "You're right. I shouldn't have snapped at him. I'm going to apologize to him when he gets back."

Just then the door to the waiting room opened, but it wasn't Peter returning, it was one of the healers. "Mr Potter?"

His face a mixture of dread and hope James got up.

The healer smiled at him. "Congratulations. You have a son."

Sirius let out a loud cheer, while James looked dumbstruck. Slowly he broke into a grin. "I have a son." he said, sounding amazed.

"You do." said Sirius grinning and hugged him, "Congratulations!"

Suddenly the worried expression returned to James's face. "What about Lily?" he wanted to know from the healer.

"Your wife is fine." the healer confirmed, "Both of them are."

"Can I see them?" James asked hopefully, and the healer nodded.

"This way please, Mr Potter."

Sirius stayed in the waiting room, wanting to give the Potters some privacy.

Feeling elated he found that he could not stop smiling. For a little while he completely forgot to be worried. James and Lily had a son! And he, Sirius Black, was going to be the child's godfather! Despite the war he was feeling hopeful for the future.

After a while James returned, followed by Peter, to Sirius's surprise.

"Two sons!" James proclaimed, "Can you believe it?"

"Two?" Sirius repeated, confused.

"Twins." Peter explained with a smile, "Wait till you see them, Padfoot! They're perfect."

Sirius experienced a sting of jealousy. Peter had already seen them? But he was James's best friend! He should have seen them first! His indignation quickly drained away, however, in the wake of mischievous thoughts. Sirius thought of twin terrors Gideon and Fabian Prewett at Hogwarts; he could hardly imagine what the new twins would be like, raised by Marauders. Now that he thought of it, hadn't Alice had twins yesterday as well? Sirius wracked his brains, attempting to recall more of Frank's excited and almost unintelligible floo call, but soon gave up.

"I'm so happy!" said James, still grinning madly, "I wish Moony wouldn't have to deal with his furry little problem tonight, and could be here and celebrate with us."

His friends shared a look. Neither Sirius nor Peter had told James that they suspected Remus of being a spy; he would never have listened to them. Though Sirius still felt somewhat dirty for even entertaining such a suspicion about one of his best friends, he had justified it to himself by citing Dumbledore's worry of a leak in James's circle and the fact that Remus had been acting more distant lately and hedging with his words. It was a flimsy rationalization, and it did nothing to help Sirius sleep at night, but at the same time he just could not help his doubt and paranoia, excessive as it might be.

Better disliked than dead. With that morose thought, Sirius returned his gaze to James's bouncing profile, cheering himself up instantly, hurrying after him into the room. Sirius's eyes at once caught on the tiny swaddle of blankets cradled in Lily Potter's arms. She looked terrible, likely in the last stages of utter exhaustion, but simultaneously radiant. It was her expression, Sirius decided: one of pure, unadulterated joy.

Sirius felt his lips curving upward to copy her smile, and, for once, his worries seemed to melt away into the back of his mind, leaving only a pleasant, heady sensation.

"What are their names?" he breathed, turning at first to James but aborting the motion halfway, leaving him angled awkwardly.

Lily answered anyway, "Harry and Charlus Potter," she said, twisting about slightly to show both newborns. Sirius did not quite catch which one was which, but he supposed he could figure that out later; they looked identical, at any rate, both somewhat like discoloured mandrake roots with fine dustings of black fuzz. Somehow, they were still incredibly endearing.

"Harry and Charlus." Sirius repeated, grinning like a loon. Even had he wanted to, he doubted he could have convinced his facial muscles to change their orientation.

"Excellent names!" Peter complimented, voice faltering somewhat near the end of his short exclamation. Sirius shot him a half-hearted annoyed look. Peter never seemed to know what to say, and what did come out of his mouth seemed forever awkward or incorrect. Another glance at Lily, however, showed that she hardly seemed to care, and was beaming at the man.

"Why, thank you, Wormtail." James said, walking around Sirius to give Peter a hearty cuff on the back before pulling both of his friends closer to the hospital bed. Now Sirius got a good look at the babies, and confirmed that his earlier assessment had not been far from the mark. Two pairs of bulbous, watery eyes stared up at him and one of the babies moved his head about slowly. That one was slightly bigger than the other one, and perhaps slightly less ugly.

"You'd better watch out, Prongs." Sirius murmured, turning to James with a conspiratorial smirk on his face. "They'll be beating off the women with sticks before you know it."

"Sirius!" Lily reprimanded, though playfully and with none of the rancour that had coloured her voice in their school days. Mission accomplished, Sirius leaned back and affected a smug air. James punched his shoulder.

"Great. It'll be your job to teach them all about it, Mister Dogfather." James's mien suddenly grew serious, though he was still smiling. He leaned in and winked, whispering, "No joke."

Sirius stared at him in incomprehension for a moment. "You mean Godfather? Serious?"

"No, you're Sirius." James said, laughing boisterously. Sirius did not even bother to scowl. He looked around dazedly. Lily was leaning back, cradling her sons, and Peter was beaming at him. Sirius felt a giddy warmth blossoming inside him and spreading throughout his body.

"Godfather." he said again, only half-aware of the movement of his lips, his mind having been shocked into somewhat of a muddle. The word came out somewhat garbled around his grin, and he nearly fell over as James slapped him heartily on the back.

Then he sobered. That he was the godfather would only matter if James and Lily died. No… Sirius's duty as godfather would be never to be needed in that role. He looked around suddenly, as if paranoid that Death Eaters would be hiding out in the hospital room ready to ambush them at any moment.

Sirius was already his friends' secret keeper. Now he had another tie to them. Death Eaters really could be after him to extort the information out of him. He would never betray his friends, but Sirius's old self-confidence was gone. What if dark wizards had some other method to get it out of him?

Peter seemed to notice his sudden low mood, and put a reassuring hand on his arm. Sirius looked at the portly little man with new eyes. Peter. Nobody ever really noticed Peter.

"I was thinking, Prongs." Sirius began, turning to his best friend and pulling him a little to the side. Peter turned away tactfully, for once, to talk to Lily again. "You're going to stay at home with Lily now, right?"

James nodded, looking somewhat bemused at this change of topic. "Six weeks, yes. What is it?"

Sirius paused for a moment to put the words together in his mind, "I'm scared you won't be safe." he admitted.

"But the charm—"

"I know." Sirius said, "But it's obvious that I'm the secret keeper. If they kill me, everyone who knows where the house is will be able to tell."

"What are you saying?" James seemed torn between several disparate emotional states.

"Dumbledore says—you know what Dumbledore said about there being a… leak."

"No, I don't believe it." James declared, looking somewhat betrayed at Sirius's reminder.

"I don't either." Sirius lied, "But just in case, you know I'm the obvious choice."

James frowned. "Well so what? We have to have a secret keeper."

"Well, yes. But what if it wasn't me, and everyone just thought it was me?"

"You're saying we should change secret keepers? Who?" James asked sharply, finally getting the point. Sirius nodded once. He turned around and twitched his head slightly at Peter.

* * *

A/N: Read and review! Fluffy-Bond and I are co-writing this story. We thought it would be fun to play around with this admittedly hackneyed plot, so though this is not a parody, it does make jabs at some common cliches. The German version can be found under her account at fanfiction s/8983482/1/Der-Zwillings-Trick


	2. Chapter 2

The door split cleanly in half and fell open with a muffled thud. Lord Voldemort moved inside with purpose, surveying the state of the room dispassionately, a killing curse on the tip of his tongue and wand.

Nobody was there. The upholstery was spotless, except for a garish blue robe thrown carelessly over the arm of the sofa. The electric lighting was turned on. Somebody was in the house.

"James?"

Lord Voldemort's eyes snapped upward and met the horrified stare of Lily Potter, whose initial smile was still partially frozen onto her face. Lord Voldemort was the first to regain his wits. Adjusting the grip on his wand, he twisted it in his hand and floated upward unnaturally, soaring clear over the upstairs railing and toward Lily Potter, who stumbled backwards through the doorway from which she had previously emerged.

There was a cry from inside, and Lily Potter echoed it with a slight, uncertain moan. Then she seemed to regain her wits and held her arms out the side, as if in protection.

Lord Voldemort paused for a moment, noting something odd about the woman, but he brushed it aside.

"Step aside, silly girl." he told her, holding his urge to attack in check. She was unarmed, and Severus had requested he spare her. He would have simply banished her to the side, but he was somewhat curious to see what would happen.

Lily Potter lowered her hands to her sides and twitched slightly, before a small "Oh!" escaped her lips and she suddenly seemed to regain her wits. Her eyes widened and she returned to her previous position, though now she seemed even more determined and desperate.

"Not my baby!" she cried.

"Step aside." Lord Voldemort repeated. He rather disliked repeating himself, but there was no rush, for now.

"No! Take me, kill me instead." There was a wild lucidity in her eyes and it unsettled Lord Voldemort. He felt somebody trigger the perimeter wards he had left at the front gate and decided at once that he was finished playing games.

"Very well. _Avada Kedavra_." He focused his hatred, and Lily Potter crumpled to the ground with a flash of green light. Ignoring the brief sensation of hollowness in his chest, a mildly uncomfortable consequence of casting the spell, Lord Voldemort stepped up to the crib, where a small boy with dark hair stared up at him with large green eyes.

Lord Voldemort had heard tell that there were two children, but he could find the other one later.

"_Avada Kedavra._" he said again. A green flash left his wand and struck the baby on his forehead. The child cried out, perhaps in surprise, and immediately Lord Voldemort knew that something was wrong. There was a terrible pause in which he stood, staring at the infant who stared back with unbelievable liveliness, before the world flashed green again and Lord Voldemort knew only agony.

* * *

A loud _pop_ sounded as Sirius apparated into Godric's Hollow. With dull horror his eyes fixed on the scene that appeared before him. The Potters' house remained standing, but the entire right side of the upper floor—where Sirius knew the nursery was located—had disappeared entirely. The ground about the house was littered with smoking rubble.

Brandishing his wand, Sirius stumbled forward. There was no room left for clear thoughts in his head. Only the desperate hope that it might not yet be too late compelled him onward. Fearfully he registered that the front door stood ajar. He did not stay for long on the ground floor. The cries of a child pierced his ear from above. Perhaps not everything was lost…

Sirius sprinted up the stairs, rushing in expectation of the worst in the nursery. The first thing he saw was James, kneeling on the floor, inert, and a shudder of relief lanced through him—until he saw the lifeless form in James's arms.

"Lily," whispered Sirius, choked. Slowly, he stepped into the room, growing more aware of the destruction that had befallen it. A layer of dust and detritus covered what remained of the place. It was cold, for the roof and the wall had vanished. Charlus lay beside James on the floor while Harry sat in his crib. Both children were shrieking, but appeared at a glance to be unscathed.

Sirius knelt in front of James and stared into Lily's empty expression. It was too late, he realized. She was dead.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice brittle.

James did not answer. He remained utterly lifeless, his gaze riveted on his wife, as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

Tears ran down Sirius's face. Lily… oh God, Lily! It couldn't be true! It wasn't allowed to be true! What would James do without her? What would become of the children?

"I'm so sorry, James!" he whispered and began at last to weep. He had already lost several friends and relatives in this war, but never someone who had been this close to him. As James was a brother to him, so Lily was the sister he'd never had. For a while Sirius forgot everything around him and let his pain run freely.

Eventually he calmed down somewhat. The cold night wand began to clear his head. His thoughts whirled about. Who was responsible for Lily's death? Death Eaters? Voldemort himself? But why had they disappeared? And really, they never should have been able to find Lily. Peter was the secret keeper… had something happened to Peter?

The children, meanwhile, had grown quieter. The cries had subsided to a soft whimpering. For the first time, Sirius noticed the strangely shaped cut on Harry's forehead. He stood and stepped up to the crib.

Harry looked up at him with wet, tear-stained eyes. "Siri," he said, and reached out with his arms.

At that sight, Sirius nearly broke out into tears again. Gently, he picked up the boy and pressed him to his chest. "Everything's going to be all right, Harry." he murmured. "You'll see. Your Uncle Padfoot will take care of you." The cut on Harry's head looked like a lightning-bolt. To Sirius's relief, the wound did not seem to be bleeding.

They couldn't stay here, he realized, not in this cold and in this half-destroyed house. Moreover there was no certainty that whoever had killed Lily really had disappeared, or wouldn't be coming back. James and his sons were not safe here.

"James." he said, "We have to get out of here." His friend did not seem to hear him. He continued to sit there, motionless, Lily in his arms. Slowly, Sirius began to think that his behavior was uncanny. "James!" he said more emphatically. "You're in danger here!" Still no reaction.

Sirius knelt down beside James, Harry still pressed against him, and shook him on the shoulder. "James! _Prongs!_"

At last, James looked up at him, though his gaze was strangely empty. "She's dead." he said tonelessly.

Pained, Sirius shut his eyes for a moment. "Yes." he said. "I know. But you're still alive. Harry and Charlus are still alive. You have to think of them now!"

James did not seem to have any inclination to stand up. Sirius opened his mouth, about to go on, but paused at the last moment. He thought he he'd heard a sound. Listening closely, he turned his head about. A moment later he heard it again. Somebody was in the house!

"We have to get out of here!" he hissed, "_James, please!_" He might as well have been speaking to a wand, for all the good it did him. He tugged at his friend in an attempt to bring him to his feet, but realized quickly that all of his efforts were in vain.

Sirius cursed under his breath. He obviously couldn't expect any help from James. Carefully he set Harry down beside his father and pulled out his wand. The boy began to whine when he could no longer feel his godfather's warmth.

"Shh… everything's okay." Sirius tried to calm him, "I'll be right there!"

But before he reached the door, he saw three drawn wands across from him. Their wizard owners wore robes that revealed them to be Aurors, but Sirius wasn't inclined to trust them on that account. His suspicions proved valid a moment later, as three stunners flew at him. Reacting quickly, he raised a shield, absorbing them, though the force of the impact pushed him back several paces. Behind his three assailants emerged more faces. In case Sirius had needed proof that the fidelius charm was broken, he had plenty of it now.

"Sirius Black." A grim-looking Auror with stringy, dark blond hair stepped forward. He seemed familiar to Sirius, but it took a moment to place him: Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office. "You're surrounded." said Scrimgeour, "Resistance is futile!"

Sirius stared at him. "You want to arrest me?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Give yourself up!" commanded Scrimgeour, "I'm warning you, Black, we'll use force if you don't come on your own. Drop your wand!"

"You can't be serious!" growled Sirius, who felt anger bubbling up quickly within him. "Listen… my friend needs help! His wife… can't you see what's happened here? You should be trying to figure out who's responsible for this, not going around threatening people!"

Scrimgeour stretched his mouth into a mirthless smile. "Oh yes, we know what's happened here. You can save the drama; we're not going to fall for it!"

"What are you talking about?" snapped Sirius. The tension that hung in the air between him and the Aurors was nearly tangible.

Yellow eyes pierced his. "Don't act so innocent, Black! You were the secret keeper for the Potters. You betrayed their location to You-know-who. And now you're here to finish what he started, but we won't let you! Drop your wand and get away from the Potters!"

Sirius began to laugh. He couldn't do anything else—the situation was plainly too absurd. The Aurors stared at him mistrustfully. They were probably asking themselves whether he'd gone insane, and Sirius had to ask himself that too. "I think there's been a misunderstanding here." he finally managed to bite out.

"Oh? Is there something you'd like to tell us? Maybe you weren't the secret keeper at all, rather it was actually Peter Pettigrew?" said Scrimgeour sarcastically.

"How did you know that?" Sirius asked, taken aback.

Scrimgeour smiled grimly. "Because it was Mr. Pettigrew who called us for help as soon as he realized what your plan was. He warned us that you would say exactly that."

Sirius could only stare at him. Very slowly, comprehension began to trickle through. Peter was unharmed. Peter had set the Aurors on him. Peter had betrayed James and Lily. He had betrayed them _all_. Wormtail was the traitor, the leak. Who knew how long he'd spied for Voldemort! Part of Sirius didn't want to believe, but a bigger part of him was furious and wanted revenge.

"That lousy little rat!" he hissed. "But there was one thing he didn't plan for!"

"And that would be?" asked Scrimgeour alertly.

"James is alive." said Sirius, "and he can attest to the fact that Peter Pettigrew was the secret keeper." he declared confidently.

Finally it seemed that Scrimgeour began to entertain doubts. "Mr. Potter," he addressed James, "is that true? Was Peter Pettigrew your secret keeper?"

Sirius turned his head to James, though it probably wasn't a good idea to let the Aurors out of his line of sight. James had stood up and was staring expressionlessly at the scene before him. And then he did something that made Sirius's heart skip a beat: he shook his head.

"Who was your secret keeper, Mr. Potter?" pressed Scrimgeour.

For a moment, it seemed as though James hadn't heard the question. But then he said with a toneless voice, "Sirius Black."

A horrible buzz surrounded Sirius's ears. He didn't notice as his wand sank; barely perceived the disarming charm that flung it out of his hand; hardly felt the cords that snaked about his form. He didn't hear Scrimgeour informing him that he was arrested and could not afford any resistance as the Aurors led him away. He did not understand what had happened. Peter's betrayal was one thing, but James? _Why?_

The last he saw, before the Aurors pulled him from the room, were Harry's forlorn green eyes.

* * *

A/N: Read, review, enjoy! All the exciting parts were written by Fluffy-Bond. :P Remember to visit her profile for the German version, if you're interested. And remember, if you're confused, don't worry: it's supposed to be that way.


	3. Chapter 3

A poisonous green fire flared up in the cold grate and the vague shape of a human head coalesced in its centre, glancing about frantically.

"Dumbledore!" called the head of James Potter. "Professor Dumbledore, are you there?"

Seeing as it was three in the morning, Professor Albus Dumbledore was not, in fact, in his office. He was sleeping soundly in his room, or at least, he had been, until the jarring blare of the floo alarm had startled him into disgruntled wakefulness. He swiftly summoned the Elder Wand to his hand and silenced the alarm with a negligent flick as he transfigured his plain white nightgown into a thicker, more colourful material before he conjured a low chair and sat down in front of a mass of cheerily dancing orange flames. Rubbing his eyes tiredly and settling his glasses onto his nose, he gave his wand another flick and transferred the office call into his private fireplace.

The fire twisted itself into a bright green caricature of James Potter's face with its mouth opened widely. A brief expression of surprise crossed James's face before he seemed to regain his wits.

"Dumbledore, we were attacked! Sirius betrayed us!"

Albus grew alert at that and immediately stood, vanishing his chair and summoning his real robes.

"Where are you right now?" he inquired urgently. Surely the house was not under attack right this moment? He dismissed the possibility; the floo connection would have been cut off, if that were the case.

"The house. Godric's Hollow. We think Voldemort is gone." James replied. It was over, then. Albus paused in putting on his robes and then gave up the tangled mess as a bad job. He banished the clothing back to its place.

"I am coming through. My boy, you will have to explain more clearly." he said. James gave a nod and the green of the fire bled away back into a healthy orange. Albus took a pinch of floo powder in hand and threw it in the fire before stepping in and clearly visualising his destination. It was only through force of habit that he did not vocalise it as was normal; the name of a home under fidelius could not be spoken, though, of course, the spell on the Potters' house had evidently been recently broken.

As the spinning slowed, Albus rotated himself smoothly out of the fireplace at Godric's Hollow. He was met with James Potter, as expected, though was somewhat surprised to see Peter Pettigrew and a stocky, brown-haired Auror. A moment later he recognized the man as John Dawlish.

"Now, what has happened?" he asked firmly. Peter stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. Albus noted that it was a nervous tick of the man's which had been present since his schoolboy days. Peter had never been as confident as his troublemaking compatriots.

"S-Sirius betrayed us." he began uncertainly, "I called the Aurors. Lily is dead." The man seemed quite distressed, to the point of uncommon inarticulacy. Still, he had imparted enough information to alarm Albus.

"Lily is dead? What of the boys?" Had the prophecy played out? Albus could feel the slight, oily sensation of dark magic floating about the house. Had Tom been here? It was likely. The Lestranges had been arrested only yesterday for casting the cruciatus curse on the Longbottoms. It was only because the Order of the Phoenix had received an anonymous tip-off shortly before the attack that the family emerged whole and relatively unscathed, though Frank would require a short stay at St. Mungo's. Albus had already determined logically that Tom had decided to target Harry and Charlus Potter personally, but he had certainly not expected the fidelius charm to fail.

"They're fine." said James. "I went to St. Mungo's with Harry to check on Frank. Charlus was with Lily, but he's fine."

"You-know-who murdered Lily." Peter added emphatically, a spark of ineffectual rage flashing through his eyes. Albus glanced at him sharply. Tom had indeed been here, then, if the man was to be believed.

Charlus had survived. Did that mean that something had happened to Tom between killing Lily and attempting to kill Charlus Potter?

"And what of Voldemort? Has he fled?" Albus asked. It would be best not to hurry to conclusions, especially where prophecies were concerned.

"We think he's gone." James said. Albus recalled him previously communicating something similar through the floo connexion, though the precise meaning of the statement remained elusive.

"What do you mean?" Albus continued cautiously.

"Gone. Dead." James said, with more vigour this time. "We think Charlus _vanquished_ him."

Albus caught the emphasis clearly; James thought that the prophecy had been fulfilled. Albus's first thought was that the idea was utterly absurd. Tom was misguided and cruel, but neither of those things equated to weakness. Albus had trouble imagining a baby boy defeating anyone, let alone Tom. However, he held his disbelief in check.

"May I see Charlus?" He felt rather selfish for asking, but assured himself it would be best to check now, not only to sate his curiosity, but to ascertain whether Tom was still an imminent threat. Still, he expected to meet with denial or at least resistance, perhaps in protection of the boy's health and constitution. After all, it must have been a frazzling day for everyone, if appearances were to be believed. James's face was utterly ashen, and Peter had been gnawing furiously at his lip for some time now. Even Auror Dawlish looked overstressed.

But James beckoned wordlessly to the staircase and led everybody up into the half-destroyed nursery. Albus was immediately appalled to see that the children were huddled together in the crib, obviously uncomfortable in the chilly draft that entered unimpeded through the missing wall. A sense of sebaceous wrongness slipped languidly over his skin and seemed almost to press against him, but he only gritted his teeth at the tangible sensation of lingering dark magic and flicked his wand at the open space, conjuring a temporary barrier to seal the room up again.

"The evidence!" Dawlish squawked somewhat belatedly, but Albus dismissed him with a light stare of disapproval. The man shrunk back, undoubtedly recollecting his Hogwarts days with uncomfortable clarity. Sometimes, Albus himself was surprised at how much influence a teacher could have over former students. He turned back to James.

"You left them here in the cold?" Albus demanded sharply. James looked rather confused, and Peter abashed.

"We had to carry L-Lily down." Peter explained, stumbling over the words slightly. A pained expression crossed his face as he said Lily's name. Albus nodded, but gave them a reproving glance nonetheless before taking a better look around the room. The tarp-like white barrier he had conjured covered the jagged, gaping hole in the far side of the room, which looked like it had been struck by a powerful magical blast. Whatever furniture there had been was reduced to smithereens but for the crib, which had miraculously survived almost completely intact, if a little charred. Albus's breath hitched as he noted something thin and white resting at its wooden base.

"_Accio_." he murmured, lifting his wand up and redirecting the spell into a levitation charm at the last moment. He recognised the object easily; it was Tom Riddle's wand. James's claim that Charlus had vanquished Voldemort abruptly became more believable. But the man had certainly not seen Tom's wand. Albus highly doubted he would have left it lying about on the ground carelessly if he had. What, then, had caused James to reach the conclusion he had? Merely the fact that Charles lived? There remained, of course, the question of how the boy had survived.

"Is that…?" Peter began quietly. Albus turned to him, scrutinising his face. Peter did not look entirely surprised or confused; in fact, he would gauge the expression as rather resigned. Filing away the curious reaction for later, Albus completed Peter's musings for him.

"Voldemort's wand."

"The slimy bastard would never have just left his _wand_." James said with a sudden fury. Albus turned to him in concern, somewhat startled by the emotional tone that coloured his voice. His earlier words had been rather listless in comparison. "Charlus must have done something, then." James paused, before he walked to the crib and picked up the boy on the left, who was whimpering softly. "Is he all right?"

Albus repressed a flinch as Charlus was brought nearer to him. The unpleasant sensation of dark magic grew so much exponentially stronger as to linger in the back of his throat like some particularly disgusting taste. He moved the tip of his wand in a careful circle and cast the charm to determine whether the boy was hurt. The feedback manifested itself as a momentary, intrusive sense of peace.

"There is nothing physically wrong with him." Albus informed James carefully. The sheer amount of dark magic he was radiating was rather troubling, however. "However, it is likely that he has come into contact with Voldemort's magic." In fact, he was surprised James could not feel it. Glancing in Auror Dawlish's direction, Albus noted that the man was quite tense and seemed somewhat bemused by Charlus. Perhaps the man could also sense magical residues. All Aurors had occlumency training, which vastly improved mental alertness.

"Do you think it's him then? The one?" James asked. Albus was bemused for a moment by the vague inquiry before he recalled the prophecy again. James's attempt at subtlety had honestly been rather poor.

"It is possible." Albus said vaguely, not yet satisfied with the situation.

"It has to be." James insisted, "How else could he have survived?"

But Albus knew that things weren't so simple, especially when prophecies were in play. It would be wrong to assume that the boy had special powers on account of the prophecy. Rather, he would have had these powers regardless; the prophecy merely foretold their existence. Unfortunately it had not mentioned what these powers might look like and, until now, Albus had been unable to discern any unusual manifestation in either the Longbottom twins or the two Potter boys. Even now, the only evidence that something was different about Charlus Potter was the aura of dark magic that he gave off.

"We can only guess as to what happened here tonight." said Albus at last. "I cannot say how Charlus survived Voldemort's attack. But the facts are: he lives and Voldemort seems to have disappeared."

_…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…_ Could it be? Did the dark magic drifting about Charlus Potter indicate that Tom had marked him? With a gentle gaze, Albus considered the two boys. "It is regretful that Voldemort's downfall exacted such a high price."

James Potter closed his eyes tightly. "Lily."

There was no doubt that Lily Potter had lost her life attempting to protect her sons. The love of a mother was a potent power. Albus paused as a suspicion crept into his thoughts. He began to entertain a supposition as to what had stopped Lord Voldemort. Could it really be so simple?

Dawlish looked from one to the other. "Is it true, then?" he asked, "You-know-who is really gone? Defeated by a little boy?"

Albus glanced down at Tom's wand in his hand. "It seems that that is what we must assume." he said pensively.

The Auror shook his head in amazement. "Who would've thought!"

"Professor?" piped Peter up shyly, "Wh-what's going to happen to You-know-who's wand?"

The question astonished Albus. Tom's wand was hardly of any priority at the moment, as he saw it. "Well now, I should think the Aurors will collect it as evidence." he replied. Auror Dawlish nodded in confirmation.

Peter bit his lip. "I…I think the wand should belong to Charlus."

Flabbergasted silence reigned. Then James nodded at Albus in agreement. "Peter's right. If Charlus really defeated Voldemort, then the wand belongs to him. He won it and should carry it as a sign of his triumph."

Albus knew that wands whose owners had been defeated usually subjected themselves to the will of the victor, granting him their loyalty. He himself had once won the Elder Wand from Gellert. Perhaps Charlus Potter would prove a worthier owner of the wand than Tom. "I see no reason why the wand should not be returned to Charlus as soon as the Aurors no longer need it." he concurred. "Now, however, it's certainly more important that we get you all to safety."

"Where are we going, then?" asked James gloomily.

"Hogwarts." said Albus decisively. "It is presently the safest place and Madam Pomfrey can take a look at Charlus and you too. I daresay you're in a bit of shock, my boy."

James looked for a moment as if he wanted to protest, but then slumped feebly and nodded in acquiescence. Peter laid his hand on his friend's arm. "I'm coming with you." he said to him and then turned his nervous gaze on Albus. "I-if you've got nothing against that, Professor."

"Not at all." replied Albus with a smile. It was good that James still had friends on whom he could rely. Sirius Black's betrayal must have hit both of them very hard. Nobody could have expected it, and though Albus had heard it out of James's very mouth, he found himself having trouble believing it. But he would deal with that later. At the moment he needed to take care of the Potters.

John Dawlish stayed several more minutes in the empty house after Albus Dumbledore, Peter Pettigrew, and the Potter family had gone. He had much to think on. At last he came to a decision and disapparated to report to his superiors what he had heard.

The news that the Dark Lord had been defeated by a boy named Charlus Potter spread like wildfire. Just a few hours after the fact, the Daily Prophet's grand headline proclaimed to anybody who'd not yet heard: Charlus Potter – The Boy-Who-Lived!

* * *

A/N: Enjoy, read and review!


	4. Chapter 4

Untouched and long cold, a cup of tea sat on a silver tray in the middle of an antique desk covered with scrolls and bits of parchment. The room, filled entirely with tapestries, paintings, ostentatious furniture, and expensive ornamentation, bespoke wealth and prosperity. But the only present occupant spared no glance for the luxury around him. He was an old man, pale, with snowy white hair, and appeared quite fragile, but for his piercing and intelligent eyes. He knelt on the floor, the sleeves of his robe hitched up and a piece of chalk in hand, with which he painted lines and strange symbols on the dark wood, all the while murmuring half-audibly to himself. Several times he stood up to survey his work from afar, only to quickly return and append further strokes.

At last, however, he seemed satisfied. He lifted his wand and began to speak a complicated incantation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, out of the center where the lines intersected, water began to leak out, more and more, spreading itself across the floor but leaving the chalk marks curiously undisturbed. The old man sighed and shook his head. He stepped over to the desk, grabbed a piece of parchment and began to scribble down notes, only looking up when the water flowed over his feet. Water continued to bubble up out of the floor, sloshing against the luxurious furnishings and the drenched carpets and curtains.

"_Go, I say! Go on your way, do not tarry, water carry, let it flow abundantly, and prepare a bath for me!"*_ murmured the old man. He laughed quietly, as if at a joke. A movement of his wand stopped the flow of the water and another wave vanished the flood entirely. Everything was completely dry and unharmed, as if the deluge had never been.

The old man let himself sink down onto the armchair in front of the desk. For a moment he regarded the parchment on the table before him contemplatively. Then he pushed it firmly to the side and reached for his tea. He tapped the cup once with his wand to heat it up again and took in hand a stack of newspapers that had lain beside the tray. He leafed through the stack until he found his quarry, a newspaper by the name of _The Daily Prophet_. Sipping at his tea in satisfaction, he leaned back, shook it open and began to read.

At last an article aroused particular attention. _Charlus Potter Meets the Minister of Magic_ read the headline. Under it was a moving, black and white picture of Cornelius Fudge and a small, dark-haired boy of perhaps six or seven years. The old man gazed at the child in the photo with a smile. Then he began to laugh.

* * *

Harry was hunting for dragons. Armed with a sword (a stick) and a shield (a pot lid) he slunk along the shade of the fruit trees. Well, at least he attempted to do so. It was hardly his fault that the shoes he wore were much too big for him. But a true knight wouldn't be thwarted by something like that!

Carefully, Harry peeked out from behind the trunk of an apple tree. There was the dragon! With a wild cry and a swinging sword (stick), Harry sprang out from his hiding place. "Fight, beast! I'll beat you and save the Lady!"

Gawain, his father's long-eared owl, played his role without much enthusiasm. He opened his eyes lethargically and blinked at Harry from his branch. He did not seem inclined to battle with Harry; instead, he turned his back demonstratively.

"Oh come on!" Harry called, somewhat disappointed, tapping his stick half-heartedly against the trunk. The owl did not react. Harry looked around hopefully for some other opponent, but nothing moved in the summer heat. Only the "Lady," the Potter's old black and white cat came to weave about his legs, purring. With a sigh the boy sat down at the base of the tree trunk and stroked her fur. The cat laid her head on his lap with satisfaction. She really was a grumpy old hag whom no one could properly tolerate after Lily's death, but she had a weakness for Harry.

For a small while Harry was content with the world. Here outside in the garden, alone with the animals for company, he was happy and free. It wasn't that he was bad off otherwise, but sometimes he wished for… _more_. He wished that his father saw him, was interested in him the way he was in Charlus. He wished that _somebody_ would be interested in him. Not that he was envious of Charlus's role as the savior of the wizarding world! Oh, no, that, on the other hand, would be too much attention for Harry's tastes. Actually, he couldn't really put a finger on what was missing. He only had the nebulous feeling that something in his life was not as it should be.

"_Harry!_"

The silence was broken abruptly by Charlus's voice. A moment later Harry's twin brother came around the corner. Lady jumped up, hissing and spitting. The cat did not like anybody other than Harry, but she seemed to really hate Charlus. Harry had never understood why. As far as he knew, Charlus had never given her any reason to, and she had even forgiven Harry for pulling on her tail once. With lightning speed the cat clawed up the tree and sat staring down at Charlus mistrustfully. He barely even spared her a glance.

"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!" Charlus whinged, "I'm bored. Dad hasn't got any time for me because Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus are there." Unlike Harry, Charlus had problems keeping himself busy.

"Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus!" Harry cried happily. He liked both of them, especially Uncle Peter, who was the only one who seemed to really be interested in Harry.

"Yeah, but they haven't got any time either." Charlus said. "What're you doing right now? I want to play too!"

"I'm not doing anything." replied Harry truthfully. He hoped that Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus would stay until dinner.

"Then I'll decide what we play." declared Charlus imperiously.

Harry only shrugged. He'd learned, in the course of time, that it was better to let Charlus do what he wanted and not to argue with him. His brother was always right, anyway.

At first glance the two boys looked nearly identical. Both had dark, ruffled hair, though Harry's grew perhaps even more wildly and disorderedly. Harry had also inherited the green eyes of his mother, while Charlus's eyes had gotten darker and more brownish, and unlike Charlus, Harry needed glasses, just like his father. There was also another difference, though one most people hardly noticed: under the mass of black hair on Harry's forehead one could find a thin scar shaped rather like a lightning-bolt.

"Let's play… knights and dragons!" Charlus decided after some contemplation. Harry felt a small smile tug at his lips. Maybe this would be fun after all. He surreptitiously picked up his stick again.

"You're the dragon." he told Charlus, before his twin could suggest otherwise. "I was the dragon last time." Harry added in his defense. Charlus frowned for a moment before shrugging and grinning boisterously again.

"Well all right. But you'd better watch out!" Charlus rubbed his hands together before stretching them out like wings and arching his back. Taking a deep breath, he scrunched up his nose and then let out a loud, rather convincing roar. Harry grabbed his shield off of the ground and held it up in front of him.

"Come forth and do battle, beast!" Harry called, lifting his sword heroically. Charlus laughed and gave another ferocious roar. Harry charged with his stick, slashing it in front of him and hitting Charlus in the leg.

"Ow! You'll pay for that!" Charlus cried, jumping and tackling Harry, whose shield tumbled out of his hand as he tripped backwards. He tried to employ his stick to better use, but Charlus managed to wrest it out of his hand and thwack him rather ineffectually on the skull with it. "I win!" he declared. Harry stuck out his tongue and pushed his brother off of him.

"How come you win?" Charlus always won, which was annoying. Harry had thought that being the knight would give him an advantage!

"I stabbed you!" To demonstrate, Charlus sat up and jabbed the stick several times into the air. "So you're dead."

"But you're the dragon!" Harry protested. "Dragons don't use swords. They breathe fire."

Charlus threw the stick down and turned to Harry. He reached out with his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Roar! There. I roasted you." he concluded. Harry stuck out his tongue again.

"Fine." He was slightly annoyed that Charlus had won again, but he quickly forgot about it as he and his brother lay on the grass companionably, staring up at the cloudy sky.

"What do we do now?" Charlus demanded, sitting up and leaning over Harry, who frowned. He did not really want to do much of anything at all.

"Dunno." he said. Charlus looked quite impatient, however, so he sat up and suggested, "Why don't we go see if Uncle Peter and Uncle Remus are done?"

"And Dad." Charlus added, "Well, come on; what are you waiting for?" as if it were all his idea in the first place. He grabbed Harry's arm and made for the house at a run, dragging his poor twin behind him. At the last moment Harry managed to collect his shield, which he figured his dad would be wanting back, before he was forced to hurry after Charlus to avoid something unfortunate, like dismemberment.

They nearly ran into Uncle Peter at the screen door. He pulled it aside and ushered the boys inside, where Charlus let go of Harry to pester their dad—"Come on Dad, let's play Exploding Snap." Harry hated playing Exploding Snap, because his eyebrows always seemed to take the brunt of the singeing, so he was glad to be left out.

"Uncle Peter, what's that?" Harry asked innocently, though he had a good idea of what it was. Every time he visited, Uncle Peter would bring Harry and Charlus something nice, like a quill with a pretty feather or bar of Honeydukes chocolate. Uncle Peter smiled deviously and put his hands behind his back to hide the package from sight.

"What's what?"

"That!" Harry insisted, pointing at Uncle Peter's naval. Frowning, he tried to move behind the man, but was thwarted soundly as Uncle Peter turned to match his steps. Finally, Uncle Peter relented and threw his hands up in mock defeat. He stared at the small, paper-wrapped package in his hand as if in great surprise.

"Oh, that!" he cried, scratching his head exaggeratedly. "I seem to have forgotten! Looks like you'll have to open it up and see." he said, holding out his hand. Harry took it eagerly, giggling slightly. Uncle Peter was funny.

There had to be some kind of sticking charm on the wrapping, because Harry couldn't pry it apart the way he liked to. Giving up that method, he instead decided to just rip the paper up. Now he was met with success. A strip of brown came off, revealing something shiny and silver underneath. Intrigued, Harry dug his fingers further under the opening he'd made and widened the hole, before he managed to divest his present of its shell. He stared at the silver thing for a few moments.

"What is it?" he finally asked, looking up at Uncle Peter with some confusion. It was pretty and it shined in the sunlight, but Harry had never seen anything like it before. The curved surface was cool and smooth to the touch, and there was a small spout coming out of the top.

Uncle Peter held out his hand again and Harry obligingly gave him the object. He turned it upside down and, to Harry's amazement, small white flakes began to fall out of the opening.

"That's snow." Harry said. He had no idea how snow could come out of a strange silver teapot-thing, but it was quite exciting.

"That's right, Harry. But look at this." Uncle Peter winked at him, righting the contraption before rubbing its base furiously. Harry looked on in rapt interest. Then Uncle Peter turned it over again and water came out, splashing into a puddle on the wooden flooring. It kept coming out, and Harry knew the tiny bulb couldn't possibly hold that much water. It was amazing. With a wave of Peter's wand, the water on the floor vanished.

"Wow." said Harry. Uncle Peter gave him the teapot thing again, smiling.

"My… friend made it for you." Uncle Peter said, his smile wavering slightly. Harry's head nodded excitedly.

"Wow, Uncle Peter, your friend must be really smart." he said. Uncle Peter looked puzzled for a moment. Then he nodded back.

"Of course. You'll take good care of it, won't you?" Harry thought Uncle Peter sounded a bit nervous, and he quickly moved to reassure him.

"Yeah! I will. I'll keep it on my shelf and I'll keep it shiny." he confirmed. "Thank you so much. And your friend!' Uncle Peter smiled again.

"I'm glad you like it. Now stay good for me, Harry, all right? I have to talk to your dad about something before I leave."

"Leave? You're going already?" Harry protested. Uncle Peter gave him a sympathetic wince.

"Sorry. I have to go to work." he said.

"Aww, fine." Harry replied, watching him walk back towards the kitchen, where he could hear periodic explosions and boisterous laughter from his dad and Charlus. Looking around the hall and even the upstairs, Harry couldn't find Uncle Remus anywhere, and concluded with disappointment that he had probably left already.

When Harry approached the kitchen again, he saw Charlus standing outside, looking rather focused.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, but Charlus put a finger to his mouth and pointed at the door. Harry could hear the faint sound of voices. He gave Charlus a disapproving glare, but moved closer to listen anyway. He felt somewhat guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn't his fault that his dad and Uncle Peter hadn't put up a silencing charm, right? Whatever they were talking about probably wasn't very important anyway.

"…need it for a couple of days. I'll have it back by Friday, I promise."

"I don't know… what if we're attacked by Death Eaters, Peter? Charlus needs all the protection he can get."

"Prongs, are you an Order member or not? I know you can… it's … least escape…"

Harry jumped as Charlus grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door. "I'm bored." he said.

"I thought you wanted to listen?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat annoyed. He wanted to know what Uncle Peter and his dad were talking about! It didn't sound that exciting, granted, but he was sure that Uncle Peter was trying to borrow something from Dad, and now Harry really wanted to hear what exactly it was that was being borrowed.

"It's just adult stuff." Charlus protested. Harry sighed. He supposed his twin was right. "Anyway, I wanted to show you this." said Charlus. He pulled a miniature figurine of a dragon out of his pocket. It stood on two hind legs and was a bottle green colour. Harry gave a murmur of awe at the sight of it.

"That's cool. Where'd you get it?" he asked. Charlus grinned.

"Uncle Peter gave it to me." he said. Harry felt an ambivalent twist in his gut for a moment. Then he told himself he was being silly. He had seen those dragon figurines on sale in the Diagon Alley toy shop window before. But Peter had gotten him that shiny teapot thing, which his friend had _made_. It was special, and very magical. Yes, his own present was better than Charlus's.

Staring at the dragon, though, Harry decided that perhaps Charlus would think the same thing. Charlus liked dragons, and had a lot of models and posters in his room, but that just meant the figurine probably wasn't that important to him. What if he liked Harry's present better? Uncle Peter never got them the same thing, and sometimes he and Charlus traded, usually at Charlus's insistence, though Harry hardly minded when he got fun toys or chocolate in exchange for pumpkin pasties, which he didn't have the heart to tell Uncle Peter he didn't really like.

"What did Uncle Peter get you?" Charlus asked him now. Harry contemplated saying nothing, but he thought that would be suspicious. So he showed Charlus the silver teapot thing. "What is it?" Charlus asked, mirroring Harry's own question.

"I don't know." Harry lied. "It looks nice, though."

"Yeah." Charlus agreed, but quickly went back to his charmed dragon. It was obvious which gift he liked more. Harry smiled, glad that he would be keeping his special present.

The door opened, and their dad came out, Uncle Peter following after him. They disappeared up the stairs, and then came back a few minutes later. Harry expected to have to look closely to see what Peter was borrowing, but when he passed by it became obvious—the invisibility cloak! Charlus used to use it to prank Harry, but had stopped once Harry was no longer impressed at his twin's ability to appear out of thin air or say "boo" next to his ear.

"Thanks Prongs. I'll have it back by Friday, promise." Peter said as he left. "Bye Harry, Charlus." He went out the door and turned on his heal, disappearing with a loud _crack_. Dad remained there on the doorstep, staring into space.

"See, it was boring." Charlus told Harry. "Let's play Exploding Snap again." he said, grabbing Harry's hand and running to poke their dad in the leg. "Dad, Dad, Exploding Snap."

"Huh?" Their dad blinked before closing the door and looking down, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. "Right. I'm going to beat you this time." he said playfully, racing Charlus back into the kitchen. Harry looked after them.

"I'd rather not play…" he said, though they were already out of sight. He shrugged, and then started as something slunk between his legs. "Lady!" he exclaimed, bending down to pick up the cat. She must have come in through the open screen door. The cat purred as he stroked her back. Harry climbed the stairs carefully and went to his room, the one at the end of the hall, shifting Lady under one arm. He took Uncle Peter's present out of his pocket and reached to put it up on the shelf that had been nailed to the wall above his side table. Lady hissed at him and jumped out of his grip, backing to the door.

"Hey, what is it?" he asked, but the cat only continued to stare at the teapot thing balefully. Harry shrugged. Maybe she could sense the water inside it. He knew Lady didn't like water at all. "Don't worry, Lady, it won't hurt you." he said, setting it on the shelf. Harry sat down on his bed and patted the spot beside him. Reluctantly, the cat came nearer and then jumped onto the bed, curling up and still eyeing the spot on the shelf distrustfully. Even Harry's petting did not distract her from it.

* * *

* A quote from Goethe's poem, "The Sorcerer's Apprentice."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry frowned uncomfortably as another witch's bag almost smacked into his face. The crowd in Diagon Alley was thick, almost unbearably so, and it was all he could do to keep a hold on his dad's hand and weave through the mass of people who were all so _tall_ and didn't seem to notice anything shorter than them.

"Oi!" Harry thought he heard Charlus's voice coming from the other side of their dad.

"What?" he shouted back, somewhat annoyed. Couldn't Charlus see that now was a bad time to be making small talk? Harry winced as somebody trod on his foot. When he looked about in irritation, he found that the guilty party had already been swept away by the crowd.

"Why… there… many people?"

Harry was about to yell back that he had no idea when, as suddenly as the throng had appeared, it was gone again, and they were on the other end of the alley, near Gringotts, with the raucous mass of people still churning behind them.

"Ugh." said Dad, shaking himself exaggeratedly. "You two okay?"

"I've never seen so many people." Charlus said, wrinkling his nose. Harry nodded.

"So many witches, you mean." their father corrected. Harry glanced behind him and was astonished to find that, indeed, the crowd was composed of almost entirely witches of all ages, with several beleaguered wizards diving out of the throng much as they had done a minute ago.

"So what's going on?" he asked. His dad scowled.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, some poncy idiot witches like, is doing a book signing. Come on, Madam Malkin's is over there."

Charlus made a face at the thought of having to undergo the torment of clothes shopping. Harry turned his nose up at his brother's discomfort. He was still bitter because, shortly after their ninth birthdays, Charlus had grown half a head taller than him—that was why he needed new robes. They were twins; it was entirely unfair! All of the bad things, such as being half-blind and short, had somehow hit Harry and passed Charlus by.

Harry promised himself that he would get a huge growth spurt later. Then they would see who was laughing. Not that Charlus had actually laughed about it; really, Harry didn't think he had even noticed, but it was the principle of the thing.

If clothes shopping was supposed to feel like a waste of time, watching somebody shop for clothes was even worse. Bored out of his mind, Harry hung in a corner and squirmed, grinding the back of his robes against the wall. It had been funny for the first five minutes watching Charlus's face screw up as the adoring lady pinned fabric on him and accidentally stuck him several times, but after awhile of nothing else happening Harry had taken to staring listlessly out the window at the hurried passersby. The crowd of witches seemed to have thinned; they had probably finally been let inside Flourish and Blotts.

And then Harry saw some teenagers outside staring in the window. They were whispering to each other. Finding their gaze rather creepy, Harry retreated further into the shop behind a shelf loaded with various hat fashions.

"Harry?" Harry peeked out from his spot as he heard his dad's voice.

"Coming." he called back, navigating through a row of black cloaks. He froze as he emerged, in full view of the window. "What's wrong with those people?" There was a crowd outside now, milling about and apparently pushing and shoving to get a good look. At what, was a mystery.

Then a woman with long blond hair finally smashed through the throng, apparently with the aid of a creatively used shield charm, and entered the shop.

"Unbelievable! Should have gone to Twilfit and Tattings. Draco, don't dawdle." she was saying, a very pinched expression on her face.

"Mum, mum. Is that the Boy-Who-Lived?"

The witch glanced over at Charlus. Harry winced, expecting some kind of gushing exclamation, and from the look on Charlus's face, he was bracing himself for the worst. But she only adopted a slightly uncertain expression, softening the lines on her face a little and making her look a bit nicer, even prettier, before she grabbed her son's hand and hastily exited the shop, heedless of the boy's ceaseless whinging.

The door creaked slowly closed behind them, but then a hand shot out to stop it, and like a cork had been pulled, the human deluge poured into the shop. The assistant at the back who had apparently been totalling the purchases shrieked, but her shrill exclamation was lost in the roar of, "Charlus Potter—The Boy-Who-Lived, can you believe it—can I have your autograph—"

Harry tried to duck behind a shelf, but was only partially successful in protecting his head from the assault of multiple handbags and notebooks and who-knew-what else.

"Dad!" he tried to shout, but he couldn't even hear his own voice, nor could he see over the overly _tall_ people who were all in the way. Horrible, mad people, he added to himself; nutters, the lot. Couldn't they leave people who were trying to buy some stupid clothes in peace?

A screeching siren surmounted the yelling of the overexcited crowd and then, with a not-so-gentle lurch, Harry felt himself launched into the air before he was inexplicably outside, and still trapped in a tangled mass of people. They had all been expelled from the shop by the wards, he figured, but now he had no idea which way his father and his brother were. What if they had to leave him behind to escape? Harry tried to press down the rising panic, but it was a losing battle.

"Charlus Potter?" somebody exclaimed behind him, and then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabbed his arm. He screamed and flailed, lashing out at whoever was holding him, which caused the grip to loosen. Quickly tearing himself away, he squeezed himself between several more people, and then the crowd seemed to thin, and he found himself blessedly free of the press of agitated bodies. When he glanced back at the storefront, he saw that it had really only been a couple dozen people, but it had felt like hundreds or thousands. Heart still racing, he took a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead and search for his dad and his twin.

Suddenly, an acute feeling of unease filled him and he whirled around, just in time for a flash of deadly green light to whiz by his ear. Somebody screamed in fright, and then people began to run down the alley. Harry's eyes darted around and he stumbled backwards slightly, managing to avoid another burning, sickly green spell. To his horror, as he tracked its movement, he saw it impact a woman in the chest. Like a stuffed dragon hit by a disenchanter, she crumpled to the ground in a messy heap. The crowd at first parted to avoid her in panic, before it began running over her body so that it was lost from view. Harry stared for a moment longer, a clenching anguish in his chest. He was sure she was dead, that she had died as soon as that horrid green light had reached her.

Suddenly cognizant that the bulk of the crowd had left him behind, that he was standing alone, halfway between two buildings, staring at the crushed form of some nameless woman who had just been killed by a spell—that had to be the killing curse, he figured, like the one Charlus had survived—Harry was seized by profound terror. He glanced back uneasily into the gloom of the dead-end street behind him and was somewhat relieved to see only a few dustbins and a brick wall. Then he found himself feeling cornered instead, and peered back at the now-deserted sunlit alley, wondering if he should make a run for it, maybe to the Leaky Cauldron. If he made it there he could floo back home.

"Harry?" Harry perked up at the sound, holding his breath and turning his head back and forth to listen for it again. "Harry?" The panicked call came again, and this time Harry saw his father hurrying down the street, wand out and glancing around wildly.

Forgetting his reservations, Harry checked again to see if he could find the attacker, and, seeing nothing, darted out of his hiding place toward his father. "Dad!" he called back. Even as far away as he was, he caught a glimpse of the relieved look on his dad's face.

Then it morphed into horror, and before Harry could so much as turn to look a slab of stone appeared at his side and proceeded to crumble into a million pieces. Harry cringed and nearly tripped, swinging away as he felt the explosive force of the dust push against him. When his vision cleared, he caught sight of an unfamiliar black-robed figure brandishing a wand. A new chill of fear lanced through him.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" cried the attacker, and another, familiar green light flew from the tip of his wand. Harry stood there, frozen, unable to react. At the last moment, another bit of stone appeared to block it, and was blasted apart. Fragments grazed his cheek, and the sudden sharp pain startled him back into motion. He ran for his father, who was still headed towards him.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" the hooded figure screamed again.

Following the green light's trajectory with his eyes, Harry could only scream "No!" as he realized it was headed for his father. But with another flick of the wand more stone was conjured to block the attack—and in their relief neither father nor son noticed the next sizzling beam of green light until it was too late.

Harry first saw the sickly flash of colour in his peripheral vision only when it was within grabbing distance, and as much as he tried to twist away he knew already he would not succeed. The spell impacted him like a powerful blow, sending him crashing to the ground. He felt wetness gushing out over his face, and the only thought that occurred to him was that this was a horribly inconvenient time to be having a nosebleed. Something sharp was digging into his back, probably one of the bits of stone on the ground.

"You bloody bastard!" Harry heard vaguely from above, followed by a multitude of what he figured were other curses, magical in nature. His dad—that was who the voice belonged to. Harry struggled to sit up and tell his father that he was just fine. Hearing a strangled cry, he renewed his efforts to overcome the strange lethargy in his limbs.

Multicoloured lights were thrown in close sequence out of his father's wand like water out of a faucet, and the man in black looked hard pressed to defend himself. Harry decided against saying anything, afraid he would break his dad's concentration. He heard, distinctly, another "_Avada Kedavra,_" from the attacker, but saw that what came out of the wand was barely a few sputtering green sparks.

"Fine, you want to play that way?" yelled the hooded man in frustration, half to his own wand. He waved it in a sweeping arc in the air and suddenly a massive whirlwind of stones appeared, spinning about the man and absorbing all of the incoming spells. Another wand wave, and Harry could not bite back a horrified scream as what seemed like half the rocks in Diagon Alley had turned into crawling creatures, anything from spiders to flies to worms.

"Harry?" Harry looked up and managed to lift his head properly as his dad blasted his way through the multitude of vermin, a loop of blue string in his outstretched hand.

"Dad!" he called, twisting and turning in visceral horror as _things_ crawled all over him, but giving up attempting to get them off as his father came nearer; instead, he focused on reaching up to grasp the blue string, their portkey.

For a moment, Harry felt profound relief as his fingers closed securely around the portkey and his father pronounced the activation phrase. Then he was in pain—everything burned and twisted and shifted with agony and in the back of his mind he still felt the little, innocent tug at his navel that meant he was heading to safety—but it did not matter, because it was impossible to think through the tearing and breaking that rattled his body.

The first thing Harry heard on the other side was a scream. He opened his eyes woozily, randomly cognizant of the fact that he had lost his glasses sometime during the fight. Somehow, though, he seemed to be able to sense everything around him quite clearly, even as he began to realize, somewhat disturbingly, that he couldn't see anything. In fact, as he tried in vain to move some kind of proper muscle, he found himself straining against a confusing weight in his chest, and still unable to feel his eyes, ears, hands, feet—anything, really. A mild panic enveloped him, but faded just as quickly.

Despite the fact that he could not see or hear, he could sense his father and brother moving around agitatedly nearby. He tried to move, and to his surprise felt himself roll onto his back with a dull, heavy thud that jarred his entire body. Now everything felt distinctly wrong, and he tried in vain to get back onto his belly.

Suddenly, Harry could see again. It was odd, because he did not think he was supposed to be able to see; the eyes were all in the wrong place. But he did not complain, having no way of doing so.

"Can you hear me?" Harry looked up at his father and tried to nod. Yes, he could hear. But all he managed was a small, strange wriggle. What was wrong with his body? And, now that he noted it, his father looked much larger than he used to.

"Wait, I think I know what to do."

"Are you _sure_…" Charlus's voice floated over, strained.

"Yes…yes, I'm sure." their father replied, looking, in Harry's opinion, rather nervous and unsure. He waved his wand, and Harry felt weird all over, and then he found himself with hands and feet and limbs and a face, like normal.

"Dad?" he asked, head spinning slightly. He felt disoriented and woozy. "Charlus? What's going on? Did the Aurors get the guy?"

"That's—Harry, is that really you?" Charlus sounded quite surprised, and Harry had the presence of mind to be rather offended.

"Of course it's me! Why wouldn't it be?" he shot back, though he felt his tongue protesting at his use of it, as if it were a piece of wet wood inside his mouth. Then all the strange feelings he had been having seemed to come to a peak, before they vanished entirely and he found himself again plunged into darkness but somehow no less aware of his surroundings, if in a different way.

He did not know how much time had passed in the dark haze around him, or when he had gone to sleep, but he awoke in a brightly lit, unfamiliar room with floral wallpaper and a large window. Sunlight was streaming in through the thin draperies, and there was a dry, flat smell in the air, like somebody had cast a hundred _scourgifies_ in quick succession. He could feel all of his limbs, and they felt normal to him. Deciding that he wanted to know where he was, he pushed himself into a sitting position, and immediately felt his head swim.

Taking a moment to steady himself, he pushed the bedcovers away and was buffeted with cold air. He was wearing a hospital gown, he realized, the sort that did not allow for much privacy. Annoyed, and certain that he was in St. Mungo's, he put his legs back under the covers and burrowed down to keep warm.

A moment later, the door on the far side of the room opened with a click and a creak, and to Harry's surprise, instead of some healer, Professor McGonagall bustled in, looking as stiff as ever in her tartan (maybe even more so). Harry knew that Professor McGonagall was the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts—she came over to the house sometimes for tea with his father, and they would discuss, in Charlus's words, "boring adult things." Harry wondered if her presence meant that his dad was also here.

"Hi, Professor." he said.

"Hello, Harry." she replied, looking somewhat concerned. "Do you feel all right?"

Harry thought about it for a moment before he shrugged. "A little weird." he admitted. "But not bad or anything."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned even more, and Harry wondered if he'd said something wrong. "Well, good. Good." she said. "Don't take that medallion off. It's part of your treatment."

Harry hadn't even noticed the silver disk hanging from his neck by a string until she pointed it out. "What is it? Am I sick?" Well, he supposed he had to be sick, if he was in St. Mungo's, which he was still sure he was. Where else had such horrible hospital robes? He had been here to get pepper-up potions and some nasty-tasting, green thing before when he had gotten the flu. Still, he did not feel sick at all, unless the weirdness all over his body counted.

"It's a transfiguration anchor." Professor McGonagall told him. "You're not sick; somebody transfigured you into something bad, and we are trying to fix it."

"Something bad? What?" Harry demanded. He frowned, remembering suddenly the portkey and the pain. "It was the person who attacked us, wasn't it?"

Professor McGonagall nodded, but looked quite hesitant to elaborate.

"What is it? I have a right to know." Harry said, borrowing one of Charlus's favourite phrases. To his delight, it seemed to work just as well for him as it always did for Charlus (except when it did not, such as when their father had blown up at Charlus for wanting to know about the Order; it was the only time Harry had ever seen Dad actually angry at Charlus).

"Well, you were transfigured into… into a large… flobberworm."

Harry stared at her grave face, aghast.

* * *

"So? How did he take it?" James asked agitatedly as Minerva exited the room with a pensive expression on her face. It did not help that she always looked so serious.

"Fine." she said vaguely. "He knows we're working on fixing it."

"We are?" James demanded, frowning. "I thought you said it couldn't be fixed!" He tried not to be angry at Minerva. It was hardly her fault the laws of transfiguration and the laws of the Ministry were incompatible. He clenched his hands in frustration. How far was he willing to go for his son? Perhaps too far, he was afraid.

"We'll keep trying." Minerva said, a strained smile blossoming across her face. "Think of it as new research."

"New research, huh?" James muttered.

"Even if we fail," began Minerva, with such a perfectly optimistic forward to help James's dark thoughts, "He will be able to live a perfectly normal life as long as you continue to apply the transfiguration."

James bit his lip sceptically. "I'd prefer he be able to live a perfectly normal life, period. Are you… are you _sure_ that it's a permanent transfiguration?" He did not know why he asked. Albus Dumbledore himself had come over to cast a million diagnostics and _finite incatatems_ on Harry, to no avail. The only way to put Harry back to normal was to permanently transfigure him back into a human body. But while permanent transfiguration of something into a flobberworm, giant or not, only required the base material of a single living flobberworm, there was no way anyone would agree to the sacrifice of a living human being to change his son back.

There had to be another way.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everybody who read and reviewed. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.


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